A Love Story That Never Began
by Romantic Silence
Summary: As Harry and Hermione dance during the reception, Harry's thoughts are on his best friend, the woman he loves.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter.

**Foreword**: I was watching a video on YouTube called "101 Reasons to Ship Harry & Hermione". As I was reading the comments, I stumbled upon one commenter describing Harry and Hermione as "a love story that never began". With that line combined with the video, I was immediately sidetracked from my other projects and began writing this short little piece. I hope you enjoy it.

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><p><strong>A Love Story That Never Began<strong>

**By Romantic Silence**

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><p>She was beautiful.<p>

I had thought that I knew that since when I first laid my eyes on her at the Yule Ball. I was wrong. Hermione never looked more gorgeous today at her wedding than a silly dance when we were teens. Her face glowed with a radiance of happiness as she conversed with the other guests, congratulating her and wishing her the best. Hermione glided through the hall from guest to guest, walking gracefully with great dignity.

The area where the reception was held was largely populated, nearly filling to the brim with invited persons. In the center was the dance floor where all was welcomed to join in and have fun. The decorations sparkled in the dim lighting provided and I noticed how greatly the ambiance complemented Hermione's form. In a sea of colors ranging from the most bizarre (Luna and her father) and flashiest (Lavender, of course), none could draw me away from the single pure white dress in the room.

I smiled and remained content where I sat.

Of course, with Hermione, she was never content with me sitting down for long. Ever since we were children, Hermione ran me ragged doing one thing or the other. It was funny. Then, I would have given up an arm or a leg to have Hermione stop nagging. Now, I don't think I would be able to get through a day without her coming down on me to actually settle and work. I was grateful, truly.

From across the room, our eyes met. Her smile broadened when she spotted me. She briefly turned to a woman I have never met and excused herself. I nearly barked out in laughter as I witnessed her pull up her dress and hurriedly rushed past the crowd to get to me. It was a far cry from the elegant beauty that I have been observing only moments ago.

"Harry!" she cried. "What are you doing just sitting there?"

I chuckled, my eyes twinkling in amusement. I was caught.

"I'm just resting my feet, Hermione. No need to worry."

Hermione arched one eyebrow fully, scrutinizing me with her gaze. I nervously looked away, but the hint of smile that was beginning to form on my lips gave me away.

"Oh, Harry. You dance once and immediately you try to run away." She chided me coyly.

I shrugged and replied, "You know how awful I am at dancing. Besides, I think I'll make everyone here a little bit happier if I don't step on their toes."

She shook her head and sighed.

"What am I going to do with you?"

"How about we dance?" I offered my hand to her, inclining slightly towards her.

A look of surprise was etched on her face, shocked that I had voluntarily offered to dance. True, I disliked dancing. I never had much of the rhythm for it even with the lessons given to me. But for Hermione, I was willing to do anything. If she asked me to drop my pants and run around like a barmy, old codger, then I would be glad to. Hopefully she doesn't, but the sentiment held truth.

The broad smile that lit up her face was worth asking her though. She gently took my hand and said, "You can be quite the charmer when you can be, Harry."

I did nothing but mirror her smile as she led me to the dance floor. The wave of dancers parted as they saw us approach, splitting in the middle to allow us entry into the center. As we readied ourselves to dance to the fast-paced beat currently on, it ended. It left me in an awkward pose that had made me feel embarrassed. Hermione giggled softly and I rolled my eyes.

"Not funny. It took me a long time to bring up the courage to dance in front of everyone and you laugh." I told her, pretending to be hurt.

"You throw yourself into a career that continually has you off fighting dark wizards and witches without fear yet the prospect of dancing in public abhors you?"

"Well…" I paused for effect. "…yes."

"You're incorrigible."

I laughed as Hermione slapped me lightly on the shoulder.

A new song began playing; it was much slower than the previous one. As the others around us began to dance slowly to the music, I turned to Hermione and offered her my hand again. Instead of taking my hand, she coiled her arms around my neck, eyeing me coyly as she dared me to react. I responded in kind, softly gripping her waist, and then allowed the rhythm to sway us.

We stared deeply into each other's eyes as our gazes were locked solely on each other. In the light, I could see golden flecks sparkle amidst the brown of her iris. Her face was radiant with joy, making me forget that we were dancing or that we weren't alone in the reception hall. To the two of us, we were the only ones in our own little world.

Memories of our past entered the forefront of my thoughts. I remembered when a little girl with a bushy mane of hair blustered into my compartment. Excited, she sat across from me and rambled on and on. However, instinctively, I knew she was a good person when she performed the spell that repaired my glasses. I was still a little boy then and it wasn't until I was much older did I understand the significance of that moment.

Suddenly, we're on Buckbeak, crossing the Black Lake through the starry skies as we head up to the tower that contained Sirius. I remembered when he said that Hermione was the brightest witch of her generation and at that moment I couldn't help but beam with pride at my best friend. It was easy to forget that the hippogriff I rode on as Hermione clung tenderly to me was a symbol of love – a love that could be considered impossible. It was also easy to forget that Sirius often called my mother Lily the brightest witch of her generation and how later he would describe that it was one reason why my father James loved her so.

I love Hermione.

It was hard not to fall in love with her. She was the only one, throughout the years, that never left my side. Not even once. Hermione was there when my name spewed from the Goblet of Fire. She was there when the nightmares came and had been the only one to coax me from my self-induced isolation. When she was given the choice between leaving with Ron for safety or to stay with me, she chose the latter. She was there when she placed wreathes on my parents' graves. With no provocation, she was the one that suggested we grow old together.

I didn't deserve her, but that can't stop me from loving her. When she chose to go with me to die rather than living with Ron, I realized then how much she meant to me.

"You're beautiful, Hermione." I told her softly, accentuating the statement by gently casting a straying strand of her hair to the side.

Her cheeks flushed lightly.

"Thank you, Harry."

"You mean so much to me."

"I feel the same, Harry."

We remained silent after that exchange, trading words with the silent communication we developed over the years. Our eyes remained fixed into one another, hoping to find what we were looking for by gazing into the window of our souls.

"Mind if the groom cuts in, best man?"

Hermione and I turned and looked to our left, finding Ron grinning from ear to ear. Taking Hermione's hand, I guided her back to her new husband. I backed away from them, giving them their space. Ron mouthed his thanks and gingerly wrapped himself around her waist. As I walked away, I turned my head back to look at the couple and found Hermione's attention resting solely on me.

We smiled. But it was not a smile of elatedness or contentment. It was one of love lost and acceptance of it.

What Hermione and I had was not a story of friendship, but a love story that never began.


End file.
